


The Unavoidable Sun

by simplyprologue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dad!Kane, Future Fic, Gen, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/pseuds/simplyprologue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, but no one's leaving it behind. When Abby isn't available for a vulnerable Clarke, Kane steps in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unavoidable Sun

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Operating on the presumption that Arkadia is still standing at the end of the season, but you know. Originally posted [here](http://ofhouseadama.tumblr.com/post/141415566724) on my tumblr.

When Clarke finally comes – Kane can’t say home, because this was never home to her except in the tangential way that the crumbling shell of Alpha station has a passing familiarity to her – to Arkadia to stay, Abby stops sleeping in his quarters. He has caused Clarke’s suffering, borne witness to some of it, and understands in the most cursory way the most recent of her emotional injuries. He respects that Abby will always be Clarke’s mother before she is his lover; her duty to her child far outweighs everything else. 

It’s a devotion he has no party to, cannot tangibly understand, but seeks to support in any way that he can. He loves Abby, and Abby loves Clarke and needs her, in the way a mother needs her child to happy and safe and nurtured. 

He is not Clarke’s father, but he’s made it a rule to make Abby’s goals his goals. 

Abby – he knows because Harper told him at the zero-six-hundred security briefing – was called in to fix someone’s midnight drunken dare that ended in a shattered femur. And when he checked in at medical  _she_  was still there, but Clarke was not at her other usual post in the lab turning herbs and flowers into poultices and pastes. When he hears that Clarke’s been missed in the mess hall for breakfast too, he grabs a ration of bacon, bread, and coffee to take Abby’s room. 

He doesn’t know what he expects. Perhaps that Clarke finally slept for more than four hours at a time and slept through breakfast. That’s what he hopes, anyway, but a stone of doubt sinks into his stomach as walks through the halls of Arkadia to deliver Clarke some food. 

“Hello?” He forgets to knock. Opening the hatch, the room is dark. “Clarke?” 

Any hope that she was sleeping is quickly dashed when his eyes adjust to the lack of light – Clarke is huddled on the floor, gasping for air as tears slide unobstructed down her cheeks and nose. Her gaze is distant and unfocused, though Kane has a few guesses where her mind might be. 

Decades on the Guard and almost a year on the ground – he knows what a flashback looks like. 

“Hey.”

He abandons her breakfast on their table before kneeling in front of her where she’s wedged herself between the bed and the dresser. His knees protest the metal floor, but he ignores them. 

“Clarke.” Her lips move, forming silent words in rapid progression. “Clarke.” Her eyes squeeze shut, and she heaves forward, rocking into her knees. “Hey, hey–” 

Her voice, when she finds it, is a high nasally distortion. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – just let me, I’ll–”

“Hey, hey. No. Stay where you are.” 

Awkwardly, he moves from kneeling to sitting, folding his legs to keep from crowding her in her corner. “Is it okay if I check your pulse?” 

Eyes flying open, it takes her a moment to locate him. Her pupils dilate, then contract, and at last she sniffles and clears her throat – then nods. 

Leaning forward, Kane takes her wrist, pinching two fingers in to take her radial pulse. He waits for the second hand on his wristwatch to tick ten times before releasing the pressure, but not letting go of her wrist. Tentatively, he takes her hand, wrapping his fingers around her limp cold ones. 

“One hundred and thirty-five.” 

Her breathing hitches. 

“Like you were running at a sprint,” he says, voice low and even. “But you already know that. Was it a dream?” 

He tries to stay gentle. This isn’t how he’d treat a guard or a soldier, and it isn’t how Octavia likes to be treated. Slowly, he warms her fingers, sandwiching her hand between both of his own. When her words catch in her throat and wisps of noise escape her throat, he only nods, and shushes her. For a moment, he tries to think of how he’d want his own child to be treated in a moment like this, but comes up short. Whatever paternal instinct he has is nervous and unsure, and those are two things Clarke does not need from him at the moment. 

“Do you want some water?” 

He starts to stand before she can answer, but she holds him back, shaking her head. “Don’t go.” 

His heart pounds in his chest. “Okay. I can just sit here.” 

In silence, they wait. Outside the window, he can hear the camp starting to come to life. The distant chattering of people reporting to outdoor duties, the clank and hum of construction machinery turning on, the tractor’s engine turning over by the cornfield. 

“It was a dream,” Clarke says, at last, voice hoarse. “And then I woke up, and it wouldn’t stop, and my Mom wasn’t there…” 

“She got called to surgery.”

She blinks slowly, wiping halfheartedly at her cheeks. “I’m not blaming her, I mean–”

“I know.” 

“Oh.” He extracts a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and hands it to her. Mechanically, she cleans her face, then lets it fall crumpled to her lap, twisted in her palm. “No matter how many times I have the dream, I can’t save her. And then I start thinking about how I couldn’t save anyone. And then I think about how many people I’ve killed.” 

“How long has it been since you left this room?” 

Sighing, Clarke leans her head against the dresser. “I don’t know.” 

Still unsure, still nervous, he lets go of her hand and lifts his own to her face, clumsily trying to neaten her hair like he’s seen Abby do before. Clarke looks surprised, but not uncomfortable. 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asks. “You don’t have to stay out for long, but some fresh air might do you some good.”

Chewing on her lip, she looks at his collar, then his chin, and finally his eyes. Getting to his feet, he holds out his hand to her. And after taking a deep, steadying breath, she takes it. Water, he thinks. And she can eat while she walks. And then back to the room, or wherever she wants to go. His next meeting isn’t until ten hundred hours. And if he’s being entirely honest, it’s with Raven and Sinclair about the next stage in eliminating the ALIE program from their systems, so Clarke’s presence would probably be helpful. Maybe being helpful would help her. 

He thinks Abby would like if he avoided recommending her daughter his own coping strategy of actively seeking a redemptive death. 

Outside of the hatch, Clarke takes his arm, half-burying her face in his jacket as she eats her biscuit. He stiffens, not knowing how to react – but he’s seen her take Abby’s hand before, so he does nothing but allow her to lean on him. They do a few laps inside, and he finds himself smiling when she provides insight on Grounder hunting methods he’d never heard of before. 

Then they move outside, where a few people merit sheepish waves. 

It’s not until Clarke lets go of him to help Monty with a radio he’s working on rewiring that Kane notices that they’re being watched. From the entrance way to the station stands Abby in an undone surgical gown, tired and pale – and relieved. 

 _Thank you,_ she mouths. 

He shrugs. Then holds out his hand from his side, and she takes the invitation for what it is.

Maybe they all need a little sun. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
